“And if you don’t breathe on your own, then I’ll know that you were always the weak one.”
Maybe I am the weak one?
Because I don’t want to fight. I can’t. My body and mind won’t withstand it.
Fight.
Fight.
Fight.
The word rattles around, but with every repeat, I slink further into the darkness that starts to come down like a curtain.
It has more appeal now.
It has the ability to stop me from entering the fight.
“So, this is my goodbye, asshole, may your twisted heart rest in peace.”
Goodbye.
Wait.
What?
She’s saying goodbye.
She called me an asshole.
She can’t do that.
She needs to learn, needs to pay.
The sound of her voice stops and my mind flickers back to the moment I first saw her.
She was always destined to be mine.
She will forever keep me in her heart because our love is strong.
I love fiercely, and yeah, maybe a little too intense, but I get this overwhelming need to make them love me just as much.
It’s almost like a sickness.
The fear of losing her.
The fear of making her hate me.
The fear of being on my own.
I don’t like it, and I never have.
She is my light.
I want my light.
I can’t live without my light.
But then her words repeat themselves.
